Don't Hold Your Breath
by Cafe.nina
Summary: That was just how it was with them. One of them pushed and you could count on the other to push back, but this time she's pushed too far. Just in time to miss Soma week. T for light blood and mild language.


***Posts late at night so no one will notice* So I'm new to the Soul Eater fanfic section but since I like Soma, I made Soma.**

**Spoilers for the manga are in here but I forgot to say so the first time, whoops. ^^;**

**Laugh for the day/night: My computer kept auto-correcting meister to keister. Computer no..**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater.**

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As it turned out she had been wrong, their mission couldn't have gone more horribly.

She begins rubbing her sore neck irritably at the sound of another car horn, yanking her hand away with a hiss at the sunbaked skin's reaction to her roughness. She goes back to leaning on the bus stop awning, her tired mind wondering if Soul had actually ditched her or not.

Exhausted, half-mangled, and ultra cranky, Maka couldn't find much strength to blame him; if she'd had the option she would've ditched her too.

They were in Libya for the day, more specifically its capitol city, Tripoli, on an overnight mission. Their target had been a corrupt soul that had developed an unhealthy appetite for people living near the Sahara. From the reports, it had grown too big to be satisfied with just the occasional unfortunate traveler crossing the huge desert. Sid had offered it barely two days ago, confessing that she'd probably had enough time off from fieldwork and it would be a good mission for her to dip her toes back into.

She couldn't agree more four months without a mission and she was beyond ready to be in the field again. It was starting to show too, from moping around the apartment to putting more books in her partners skull than usual even Blair had begun picking up on her general moodiness.

If she had know what would have happened she would've backed out.

But they way Soul's eyes had brightened when she had told him and that dumb grin he had had as he assured her it'd be a 'piece a cake,' would've made her agree to anything. She really needed to figure out how he did that before someone tried assigning her to an active volcano.

Still, that might have been preferable to what had happened a few hours earlier.

_Stupid!_ She kicks out roughly at the twisted bus sign to her left causing it to clank loudly and the people sitting on the bench next to it to start staring.  
She growls and pulls her foot away from the scuffed metal; if she'd put half this much energy into their fight earlier she might not be in this situation at all.

It had been your basic corrupt soul: big, slow, terrible vision; should have been an easy kill. Should being the keyword.

They had found it easy enough from the air. Her Soul Perception had been on point and she could feel the way Soul smirked when he had called her a showoff. He had voiced that an attack from above would be too dangerous. Its armor looked too thick for one hit and with its barbed tail arching right above that, they'd both agreed on the ground.

Her plan was easy: take out the tail, get a hit to the underbelly, then go have a nice meal with her scythe at this place Liz had been raving about for a week after her last escapade in Northern Africa.

Before she knew it they were attempting a third Witch Hunter, which backfired. The next she was choking on sand while Soul's tinny shouting filled her head telling her to get her "friggin' act together!" She had only yelled back for him to zip it and let her work. It was broiling hot, she was a two-star meister getting whipped by an enraged scorpion, and to top it off she was yelling at the one person who was actually there to help her.

It was ridiculous, their wavelengths had started becoming choppy and were close to useless. She was mad beyond belief and getting angrier that she _just couldn't end this already_! So when he'd tossed out another slight about their "progress" she couldn't hold her frustration back anymore.

She shrieked at him to shut up; he's a weapon, what did he know about being a meister? This was hard and to have a piece of metal screaming at her wasn't helping anyone. She thinks there was more after that, but the more horrifying parts wouldn't stop looping in her head long enough for her to remember.

They yelled, a lot, and most of the time it was at each other, but she never compared him to some tool; he was more than that. He meant more to her than that. And she shouldn't have been shocked by how dead cold his wavelength had gone then.

The first clean strike of the afternoon was made, crippling it long enough for her to deal a final strike. By then all dinner plans were forgotten, they had lost the directions to their hotel, her ribs were demanding her attention, and Soul wasn't speaking to her. He only consumed the deep red soul hovering close by then transformed wordlessly back into her hands.

She remembered how her palms tingled, borderline ached, against his shaft as they flew back to Tripoli.

Failure came with the job but not her job, she was supposed to be better than that.

Bang! Her foot's stinging this time but the street sign is in even worse condition. It decided it's been abused too much in its short city career and the pole curves down awkwardly till it actually snaps free of its concrete post.

She can only stare in disbelief at how she even managed to do that in her current state while a man from the overcrowded bench begins bellowing at her.

She turned to where he's gesturing at furiously and watches blearily as a bus rounds the corner and continues into evening traffic. He starts screaming even more incoherent babble, and from the motioning to his wristwatch she gathers that she must have made him late for something. It must have been important for this caliber of a temper tantrum; for Death's sake it was just a bus.

She gives a groan, her surge of aggravation, along with her boosted strength, is gone leaving her with tired, achy muscles and an angry Arabian. Now wouldn't be a good time at all for her to start a brawl; verbally or physically, she'd had enough for the day.

Still with him yelling at her she can feel her hand instinctively itching for the familiar feel of book leather, and the mental image of smashing it into his crown is helping her stay fairly composed.

It helped with Soul on occasion.

She shakes her head slowly, better to end one conflict peacefully today, holding her hands up as she steps out of range of the man's spittle and get across her absolute cluelessness here. Unfortunately, he's about as good with visual cues as she is at speaking Arabic and he definitely doesn't like her backing away.

Before he can go on, a voice cries out and a young man is running up to them from around the nearest building corner. He catches the other man at the elbow and starts talking and gesturing while she starts to see the anger from the man's soul fade.

The man, the younger one, gives her a quick smile and tips his head towards the way he came, "Your partner is over there, Miss Maka, yes?" His accent is thick but it's just a relief to be hearing a language she knows again. She gives a weak smile back and nods relieved to be out of that mess as she catches the sight of a thick head of white hair.

Oh yeah, her other mess.

He's leaning against the building corner, staring towards their odd group indifferently, making her wonder how long he's probably been there. He is watching her though, with a frown that she decides to take as a step up since it's the first time he's looked at her since they'd left the Sahara.

"Mohy," The man behind her reacts to her partner's call. She watches as "Mohy" says a few more words, slips the yelling man a white business card, and turns back to them. "Yes, sir?"

"Is everything taken care of? I hope my partner didn't cause any trouble." She can't tell if it's the way he says partner or how he is purposefully not looking at her anymore bothers her the most. Either way she feels lousy and tired, too tired to deal with this drama right now, all she really wants is to find their hotel and collapse.

"Oh yes sir, everything is taken care of. No trouble!" He seems like a nice guy and that's when her tired eyes finally take notice of his crisp tie and uniform.

"Do you work at a hotel?" She sees him pull his confused gaze away from the dinged sign on the sidewalk to her, smiling and nodding happily. "Yes ma"am, in fact, it is the hotel you a-are—are you bleeding?" His happy expression is now one of surprise as he points to her legs. Glancing past her waist, she spies several narrow rivulets of red running down her shins.

It certainly looked like she was bleeding, but she knows why. During their battle one of the Kishin eggs pincers had found the front of her skirt and a part of her thighs. She was lucky; they weren't too deep and it had been aiming for her chest. Still it had been incredibly unlucky for her to spend the rest of the fight almost fully exposed (good thing deserts didn't get much traffic). She had never been more thrilled they could fly in, having to walk with sand in her wounds for several hours wasn't her idea of a fun time.

She groans and reaches behind to make sure the knot she tied in back with her trench coat's sleeves is still a knot, but gentle fingers nudge her hands away. Soul growls out a quiet "hold still" and she lets her hands drop, biting down on her chapped lower lip hard.

His indifference regarding her personal space is making her lethargic heart flutter. With any luck maybe they'll think the flush on her cheeks is just a sunburn, which could actually be true.

"Mohy?" The paling face of their companion, who's really trying to avoid staring, turns to hers again. Looks like she wasn't the only one who's a little jittery right now.

"Are you okay?" Mohy gives her a wobbly smile; if anything he looked greener and it makes her doubt his reassurances.

Sometimes she forgets how wide-eyed and unfamiliar the rest of the world is with what they did. Seeing how close the man is to passing out at what some people she knew would consider a scratch it could be for the best that they know as little as needed.

"Don't go fainting on us now, we still gotta check in."

Mohy looks suddenly bashful at her partner's taunt but he's a quick rebound it seems. "Oh! The hotel, I should take you there! You look like you could... do with some rest. I'm sure we have something there for Miss Maka's-" Mohy's face contorts as he looks for a politer term. "-ailments too."

She doesn't appreciating the ailment comment, but her body's outvoting her pride at the moment. She still catches a sharp snort from behind her though.

Soul calmly tells Mohy to lead on, his voice relaxed like his hands and she can feel him pulling away at the definite tie in her sleeves. She snatches them back before he can try following. The all out relief she feels when a wave of his soul unconsciously sweeps against hers is hard to hide.

She turns towards him and he's giving her a blank look that doesn't fool her on a good day. The dark red eyes of her partner move away from hers, glancing over her shoulder. "He's getting away y'know? I'd rather not get lost a second time." The murky tones coming from his soul make her stomach clench. He is hurting.

They're dull, faint sounds and he's blocking her from seeing too deeply, but it's _Soul._ They've been together too long for him to be able to hide anything from her. And even if it was a bumpy resonance she can grasps enough to know what he's trying to hide. This quiet distress wasn't uncommon with him (he bottles his emotions like he's a winery) but she hates being the cause.

"Thank you," That should have been where her apology went. His empty expression doesn't falter when he slips out of her grasp and starts walking after the hotel employee.

She barely snags the words he throws back over his shoulder at her, "Gotta be good for something, right?" A huge lump of sand must be caught in her throat because now it was really hard to swallow.

She bows her head and takes in a long breath before following after them. She was really too tired to deal with this but it was her own fault and she has to fix it; she needs her weapon back.

She trails after them, coming around the corner quickly while Mohy points and chatters about the various attractions in the city. Her thighs are sizzling angrily from their work and she's punishing her weary body but she forgets that at the sight of their hotel. Liz hadn't been stretching the truth when she said it was one of the "fanciest, schmanciest" places around; she couldn't have shut her mouth if she tried.

The tall, elegant building stretched up high to meet the rusty early-night sky. When she'd counted to thirteen and the windows didn't stop she gave in; it was too massive. Everything screamed superiority. Each flower arrangement getting more ridiculous and ostentatious the deeper they went in, the front hall's marble floors polished till they were gleaming.

She steers around a group of well-groomed persons chatting and not-so-secretly eyeballing the newest arrivals. They're giving her looks going from astonished to wary but most settled on what looked to be disgust. They must be the kind of people that Soul said had snot so far up their noses they couldn't see straight.

Still she doesn't look like a five-star guest, and she knows that, but a hotel's a hotel and she has been called worse than "bizarre." She considers them lucky that she's too worn out to retaliate when she hears a tasteless jibe about pigtails.

One glance at Soul though and she sees the Last Death scythe looking beyond uncomfortable and probably had been since they'd passed the gargantuan fountains in front. A pang of her own discomfort flares and she wonders, if she felt judged how could he not? His appearance was something she was used to, but every time someone reacted to him oddly, she was reminded that sharp teeth, white hair, and blood-red eyes aren't the norm.

Her staring is enough to net his attention and his strained demeanor moves into a defensive, irritated one. She knew that face. Nope, he did not want to talk about it.

After spending fifteen minutes at the front desk soothing Mohy's worries ("No, you can't die from that little blood loss."), he willingly hands them their door card. Room number 1003. Only when the doors shut to the elevator did she see her weapon's shoulders slacken.

"Hey," Soul drags his gaze away from the very interesting numbers display and gives her a weary look. It's usually never very hard for her at all to say whats oner her mind, but that was what had gotten her into this. She swallows, the thickness from before coming back. "You okay?"

He looks a little stunned by her and the same goes for her when he gives her a brittle smile. "Yeah, 'm fine." She sags against the cool metal railing not really convinced but at least he was talking to her again.

He walks over so he can lean on the railing with her, his hands pocket bound. He tilts his head back with a sigh; his smile vanishes and she can feel her heart stop on the fifth floor.

"How are your legs?" She wrinkles her nose not expecting that question. The waves coming off him are harder to read, was their wavelength that badly distorted?

"Okay," She tells her boots. He turns to give her a disbelieving look and probably start calling her out on that, but is stopped by two old men getting on from the seventh floor.

When then more wrinkled of the two beams and tips his hat to her, she can't help but smile back at his dimpled face. The other mashes the button for the lobby and she's unknowingly saved from her partner's grilling. She straightens out of a tired slump when the ding of the elevator doors show they're on ten. The older men part and the smiling one gives her another tip of his brim. Before the doors can close behind her scythe she smiles at the two gentlemen.

With a bump of the closing doors they're gone and Soul's on her again.

"Alright, so how bad are they?" She walks past him swiftly, ignoring the burning under her coat.

"They're fine, Soul," Concerned, she could get, but this was different. The last few hours of the silent treatment show he had been ticked off, but now he was acting worried? She knows she doesn't deserve to feel this way, but she getting irritated at this mood swing.

Maybe he felt bad about giving her the cold shoulder while she was injured. Fighting didn't change how they felt about the other. Worst case scenario would mean a book to the head (most cases) then heading to their respected rooms to lick their wounds for awhile.

Being in the field added a whole different side to their arguments.

"Oi, the room's this way," She turns back around and does not acknowledge the smugness in his expression. Only when it takes him four different times to get the door to the room open does she let the grudge go.

She turns the handle before the tiny green bulb can go out again, making sure to catch the look of exasperation on his face. Once they're inside she hears a choking noise from behind her but it isn't out of annoyance.

The sight of the beautifully made queen-sized mattress by the wall makes her let out a breath she doesn't remember holding. Only to draw it in again at the realization of what that meant exactly. It really was one bed. One, not two like they needed.

"Who made this reservation?" Her scythe's voice is coming out tight and are hardly even words so much as snarling.

Then it made sense, she knew who'd made this reservation. The same person who had promised the restaurant down the street was in-cred-ib-ebluh. "Liz," She's too transfixed by the fluffy mounds of their duvet to throw a hissy fit about it.

The same could not be said for Soul.

He spits out some choice curses about their booking situation that tapers into incoherent growling as he whirls back to the door.

"Damn it Liz!" That snapped her out of her comforter daze, "Where are you going?" "Downstairs." And now he's mad again. Once they're back in Death City, Liz had better have moved to Spain for trying to play matchmaker again. That little glint in her eyes when she'd told them she could get a great deal should have been their tip off.

"Soul, stop," He does what she asks, hand on the knob of the now ajar door. "It's okay. I really don't care anymore," Right now she cares that her legs are throbbing, and about how badly she really just wants to crawl into _a_ bed right now. And that if she doesn't reign in his rage they might end up without a hotel and that wasn't going to be good thing for either of them.

He turns back, looking less ferocious and more curious, giving her a once-over, "You sure?" Is he uncomfortable? The little shuffle in his feet said so. She gives a smile as close to comforting as she can reach, "I'm cool if you are." An even more intrigued gaze that he quickly banishes with his own smile; not a smirk, a real one, "Well, we both know the answer to that." A click of the latch and she can let that earlier breath out again.

He glances between the walls ambling closer. "Gotta admit, this is a pretty nice place," She takes a peek around as well, mentally punishing her eyes for somehow randomly focusing back on the approaching Death scythe. "Yeah it's-" Stop staring Maka, "-nice," Her overly shifting view of the room causes her balance issues which causes Soul to clamp a hand on her elbow.

"Hey," Well now she has to look at him. "Hi," A wimpy smile follows it and she can feel her "sunburn" starting to show.

His grin is much toothier but his eyes stay warm, "Go take a shower." His voice is light and the grip becomes a tug in the direction of the washroom. She doesn't rebel until a crucial detail is remembered. "Soul, wait! I don't have any clothes!"

He continues to tow her across the room. "They're already here, straight from the airport. Now go wash off your legs so we can work on 'em."

"Well let me get them first!"

After digging out her pjs and watching Soul shoo her away after crashing onto the bed, she stumbles into the bathroom to peal off her clothing. Taking off her boots was instantly satisfying, but her skirt was more caked with blood than she'd thought. That hadn't been so satisfying. The lukewarm water felt great against the skin of her hand the grittiness of sand was always annoying but she was far used to living in a desert.

When the water first hits her legs she almost screams, avoiding it by digging her teeth into her lip and turning so the water couldn't get to the scrapes. Scratch off her chances of having any long pain-free showers for a while. Settling on the quick and soapless, even as much a she probably smelled, she practically jumps back out of the shower. Sadly a shampoo-less shower made for terrible hair the fogged mirror showing what looked to be a sorry wet dog impression.

A few minutes with a the comb she'd found near all the complimentary things and no progress she decide to let it go. Having to slip into her pajama bottoms was a tricky and delicate process; she silently thanked whatever had possessed her to bring her shorts. She eventually creeps back into a freezing hallway; Soul must have found the A/C and if her shower hadn't forced her to wakefulness this would. She gave a small sniff, could that be food? Peering around the wall corner showed that yes, indeed, it was.

Soul had his legs folded around a full tray of some kind of colorful pasta and veggies. The rooms flatscreen blared nonsense as he glared at it, waiting for it to make sense, while shoveling some squash(?) into his jaws.

She doesn't waste any time; traipsing over as quickly as her jelly legs will allow, then folding her calves gingerly under her once she's plopped onto a very mushed up duvet. She spies an extra fork and figured it wasn't the super high-end meal they'd planned on, but she wasn't going to complain; she'd have probably eaten fish if she had to.

Her excessive fidgeting (her thighs were burning really badly) got the Death scythe's attention away from the screen, "Hey, I got way too much of this—the hell?" She would've been staring down at her legs like he was too if she hadn't been caught mid-chew. "Those don't look good, Maka. I told you to cleaned up," She chews a little more while he watches her with a frown.

Oh no way was he keeping her from her food, he could just forget that. She swallows, "I'll take care of 'em later." Not what he had been looking for but tough toe-nails she wasn't going to get an infection from sitting down. A half sigh, half moan, "Fine, fine, go ahead." Like she needed permission.

When she sees him tear a piece of his fettuccinne apart more aggressively than needed and feels the sullen noises still coming off of his soul she remember she hasn't apologized yet. He can act outwardly like he's put it behind him but she knows he's probably really stewing in his own juices, which was not a good place for him to be. She's really screwed it up this time, almost Book of Eibon level screwed up.

Even if he knew she didn't mean it, clearly it had wounded him; she needs to apologize.

The noise his fork makes when it hits the plate causes her to jump out of her thoughts. He's slipping her a peeved glance as he takes the dinner tray off his lap and puts it on the bed spread. "You're bleeding again. I'm getting the first aid," Well she hadn't seen that coming. Oh yeah, she was bleeding again.

"We have a first aid kit?" He's over by the floral patterned chair in the corner and when he turns back toward her he's holding high a tin box with a red cross on it. "Oh," She hadn't seen that at all, distracted by pasta and guilty thoughts. "Where'd-"

"Mohy," He crouches in front of the end of the bed and she realizes she's twisted her back a weird direction. She pushes her almost empty plate away and swivels to dangle her legs off the edge; untangling them as Soul unwinds one of the bandage spools. "He thought you could use something for your 'ailments.'"

He has a pretty Maka chop worthy grin on his face right now, but she doesn't see any books nearby. A hard whack with a rolled up TV guide he left on the bed works in a pinch.

His eyes had closed in preparation for the hit but he's peering back up at her too quickly, studying her piteously, "That was pathetic," She flops backward and tosses the guide away while rough laughter leaves her scythe's throat, "You need some rest, nerd," She lets out a lady-like snort as she propped herself up on her hands and glared down at him, "Excuse me?"

He's still got a few extra tremors of laughter running through him, "I'm just saying you're lookin' real threatening in your pjs," She huffed as he flicked a non-injured part of her thigh, "Now quit squirmin'."

He pulls out a bottle of antiseptic and spritzes it across the gashes. It stings but she's really getting too numb to react, plus it couldn't compare to her shower experience. Her brain is getting fuzzy, something she'll need for a sincere apology.

The bandages around her thighs are tied gently, he prods her a few times so she'd lift her leg and he could encircle it. Watching his focused expression was riveting he tries playing Mister aloof cool-guy all the time so seeing him concentrating is a rare and entertaining thing. He has his lips set in a determined frown as he tapes a loose strip down. His eyebrows are wrinkled into a grumpy line, eyes narrow and intent.

"It's not polite to stare Maka," He doesn't look at her but she detects a hint of embarrassment from the pink color creeping up his face. She gave a low hum, "I know," He gives a small smile but his redness doesn't fade.

After he lays another strip of tape down, he leans back with a self-satisfied expression. What a dork. She rolls her eyes, heaving a sigh. _Now or never Albarn_.

"Hey, Soul?" He glances up from stuffing a pack of band-aids into the box, "What? If I got it too tight you should'a told me," She felt her heart give a bump in her chest, "No, that isn't it. I wanna talk about what happened in the desert."

He slaps the top of the kit closed, his eyes boring into the carpet. He looks up at her neutrally after a moment, "What d'ya mean?" He stands pulling the box with him and walking back over to the chair, "I've already forgotten about that."

She glared at him like her eyes could rip his facade apart. She could try fighting him on this, which might end with her yelling, and inwardly hating herself for it, while he kept cooler than the Arctic.

She bites her lip to shut her big mouth; no, there will be no more yelling at Soul today. With her Maka chops as weak as water no way could she beat his feelings out of him. Added to the fact that it would make him want to bury them even deeper. That wouldn't do.

"Look Soul-" A brush of a soul and she's left choking on her next breath. A hiss of anger has flown off him, not a very strong surge but it was there. She went deeper, tearing the wave apart, looking for more until she caught that same initial jolt of pain from earlier. As fresh and unbridled as a few hours ago.

"Hey!" He snapped, too loudly to be considered very cool. She heard the sound of slamming piano keys and then his soul shut in on itself. Her partner loomed overhead; he was several inches taller than her normally now and sitting down meant he had even more on her. "What was that?" He barely restrains snarling reminding her of the guy at the stop earlier.

"You're lying," She states. He re-sheaths his teeth, straightening up while still glaring down at her, "I'm not lying," His voice is more even but it isn't convincing enough. She glares upwards at him, "Soul."

His shoulders lower and he slowly tilts his head back, defeated. He brutally runs his hand across his face; she couldn't smash him in the head currently but she had other ways of prying him open.

"You cheated," He grumbles and she couldn't help but smile a tiny bit, "That's beside the point," He lowered his hand and gives her a loose smirk back and she pats the spot next to her temptingly. He sits close, watching her reluctantly but partially amused too.

"Okay, so maybe I haven't put it behind me," It takes a lot of strength she hardly has anymore to not raise either eyebrow.

She must have made a skeptical look anyway because his eyes turn to survey the wall instead. "I'm not mad at you Soul," She puts a hand on his shoulder to pull his gaze back. "I'm more mad at me," He doesn't look surprised at this and she evicts the normal urge to get aggravated about his nonchalantness.

"I know I said all that stuff in the desert," Her grip tightens on him as the word 'metal' and 'just a weapon' repeated in her ears. "But I don't mean that. You're not just some piece of tin I keep with me. You're so much more important than that. And I hate-" She stuttered; she really wished her eyes would stop burning. "-I hate that even for a second you'd believe that. It was stupid and I don't mean that. I don't." Her throat was getting all sticky too, it was making her voice sound dumb.

"You're m-my weapon, okay? I don't want you to have to hide how you feel for me, do you know how much that s-sucks?" Not very eloquently put, but she can't think with the way he's just staring at her. Her eyes widen, she'd left something out.

She suddenly can't stand gazing at all that red now, she goes for wallpaper. "I am so sorry, Soul. You deserve so mu-"

"If you finish this with how I deserve someone better than you, you might as well screw that whole speech." Her head almost snaps off she looks back at him so quickly. He has that heart-slaying grin resting so easily on his cheekbones and his hands have moved onto her shoulders, keeping her there.

"For Death's sake Maka, I'm your weapon, remember?" He's trying to give her a look resembling sternness but there's so much fondness showing. "You don't have to put yourself down because of me, alright? That sucks."

She manages to get out, "But what I said-" He puts a hand in her face, "Don't Maka. I think you've punished yourself enough for today." It sounded as that should have been delivered lighter than it had been and his head lowers in the direction of his shoulders. "I probably should have said something sooner," He was acting remorseful, which was stupid, she's the one who's supposed to be sorry.

She breaks his grip on her and looks at her scythe hard, "You can't protect me from everything Soul." He flinches and draws back and she wonders how her apology turned into such a challenge. "You have every right to be mad at me, but you can't force that emotion away because you're afraid of hurting me, okay?" She doesn't need an answer to that question.

"So be mad at me because I don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me," She plants her hand over the middle of her stunned partners chest, spreading her fingers wide, "I know you're upset about what I said and I'm really sorry, you can even still be mad at me if you want just don't pretend you're not."

How she went so long looking into his eyes with out turning the same color as them was beyond her. Maybe the way they'd tripled in size was the explanation.

"So, just so we're clear, you want me to be angry at you?" She finds the odd urge to crawl into the pile of pillows and blankets and use one of them to choke herself with. What was she thinking, did she just finish digging her own grave?

"Um, yes." She's starting to wonder how hard it is to make a noose out of bed sheets when her palm jostles from his laughter. Full on body-shaking laughter; she pulls her hand back. "Really? How am I supposed to be mad at you now?" The comparison of him to a piece of steel from before comes to mind.

When his cackling (and a few of her nervous half-laughs) die down, he takes a couple of breaths and crashes onto his side with a grunt. She makes to follow after him, unsure, until he shoves her all the way down. She pushes down the puffy fabric till she can see the sharp smile of her scythe. He seems content and a peek at his soul shows it pulsing with affection. Her face finally does go red when she notices it's directed at her.

"I was upset Maka," He says, and she lets him stroke her dampened bangs out of her eyes. "And I'm sorry about trying to hide it." She wiggles closer, the gap between them finally dissolving, "_I'm_ sorry, about what I said."

His hand goes across her side and around her back; she hadn't even been cold till she felt how warm he was. He raises an ebony brow, "You keep apologizing about that, I get it. You were frustrated." She frowns, serious, "It was wrong."

She was pulled nearer. "Yeah, well guess what? I forgive you anyway." She makes a hazy promise to thank Liz for booking this place.

"Thank you," He smelled like their apartment and the creamy stuff that had covered their pasta at dinner. "Now we just have to wait till one of us does something stupid again."

He gives another chuckle, "You'd think by now we'd know better." She smiles playfully, "Psh, when are we gonna learn." That wasn't a question she needed to get an answer to either.

His grin widens.

"I wouldn't hold your breath."

* * *

**It's a school night what am I doing.**

**Okay, I'm not the best grammatically wise (I suffer from tense confusion and severely poor punctuation) so if you see anything horrid, tell me! I can fix it! Or don't tell me, I get it if you're not into cheap labor.**

**Thank you for reading this! It's so looong, it took me so looong, I hope you weren't bored out of your minds and it isn't choppy(****probs is). If the word vomit's too much and it seems absolutely terr-ibleh, tell me. I might rewrite it or just delete it if I'm too ashamed. :/**

**And fyi, I just got into Mekaku city actors (I luv it but I wouldn't quiz me on it) and a ship I happen to enjoy is easter egged in here! Hint: I ship the first number with the last one. If that's too vague (It's 1:00 sorry) you can ask.**

Edit: fixed a few things and did some tweaking because I wanted to.


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